


Employment After Death: How to Find the Perfect Career the Second Time Around

by snowpuppies



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike calls the Powers That Be for some help with Illyria. Anya answers his call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Employment After Death: How to Find the Perfect Career the Second Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> Compliant with the first 3-4 issues of Angel: AtF, but it shouldn't be necessary to have read the comics to understand. For those of you who need a bit of background information: **COMICS SPOILERS** After NFA, LA is sucked into hell, and Spike holes up with Illyria in Beverly Hills. Illyria is...madder than a hatter, very aggressive, fighting anything she finds (with the exception of Spike, who barely maintains any control over her). He is also, in true Spike style, surrounded by hoardes of skantily clad women.**
> 
>  
> 
> Beta'd by [Deird1](http://deird1.livejournal.com/).

  


 

  
With a happy smile, Anya placed another `CLOSED` case file in the outgoing box; it disappeared with a 'pop', automatically sorting itself in the archives.

She had the greatest job. At one point, she'd thought being a Vengeance Demon was the greatest job in the world, and then she'd discovered money and the small business venture seemed more appealing, but her new position with the Powers was even better. Not only were her missions paid for by the Powers, who were _very_ generous with the stipends, but her job, her actual _job_ was giving and receiving orgasms. And the paperwork wasn't too bad, either.

It just didn't get any better.

She wondered why no one had thought of using sex as a job before.

It was probably because all the people she knew _before_ were alive; things were much clearer once you died.

She sighed, leaning back in her cushy _executive_ chair—complete with wheels and full-spin capabilities—and reached for her newest file.

 

***

 

Anya popped to the address on file: a rather impressive mansion in Beverly Hills. She'd say Spike was moving up in the world, if it weren't for the hell dimension thing. Still, he seemed to be doing well for himself. She wondered if he needed any financial advice; she could work miracles with a budget…for a small fee, of course.

She found Spike sunning himself in the courtyard, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful, curvy, and mostly humanoid women.

"Anya!" He sat up from his sprawl, brushing aside the many feminine hands that moved to assist him. "I thought we'd lost you, Ducks."

Anya smiled brightly—the customer was always right—and answered, "You did. Well, sort of. I’m not technically pulse-having anymore. I'm an emissary from the Powers."

"Good on you, Pet. Suppose you're here about our not-so-little blue problem," he said, gesturing towards the house, barely flinching at the scream and the crash that came from said building at his cue.

Anya nodded, saying, "We got your message, but I'd like a few more details before dealing with her directly."

"She's bloody insane, for one thing. See, when she first took over Fred's body, she was a condescending bitch, but you could still make her see reason, especially if you could swing things to her way of thinking. Now…well, now, nothing makes sense." Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze drawn to the house.

"She shifts a lot, between Illyria and Fred—she did that before, mind you, but it was _different_, like…Illyria was just wearing a suit that looked like Fred, but lately…_lately_," he shook his head, chuckling wryly at himself and muttering under his breath, "loosing your marbles, mate," before continuing out loud, "well, it's just been different, that's all."

Anya smiled again—optimism sells, after all—before hurrying to reassure Spike: "Well, I'm here to help now, and I'm terribly good at my job, satisfaction guaranteed, or your…well, you won't get your money back, since you won't be paying with cash, but I can guarantee you'll be satisfied—_very_ satisfied—so we'll just skip that part. Anyways, time is money, so I'll go and see to the problem while you stay here and get a tan."

Clutching her bag to her chest, she disappeared.

 

***

 

"AHHHHHH!"

Anya popped into the room just as Illyria attacked the wall, sword sparking off the stones.

"Oh, yeah. You need this," Anya muttered under her breath as Illyria screamed at the wall once more.

Illyria turned at the sound—"Intruder!"—and charged at Anya, sword pointed to skewer right through.

"Hey! Watch where you're swinging that thing!" Anya popped out of the way, fingers sliding under her top to trace at the scar that ran across her body.

Glancing at the shiny skin, she added, "I've kinda had enough of the swordplay already." Digging into her bag, she pulled out a glowing orb and held it up. While the Dagon sphere wouldn't disable an Old One, it did have a calming effect, and Illyria stopped running and lowered her sword.

"Your presence is unexpected. You will make yourself known."

"Yeah. Next time, lets try that _before_ you try to run me through, ok?" Anya smiled brightly. "I'm an emissary from the PTB, here to bring you the gift of pleasure."

Illyria raised her sword. "I do not wish to hear of these Powers; they are traitors to the Old Ones, their names stricken from the Scrolls of Destiny. They dug out the ground with their fingers and fashioned The Well, where they used deceit and trickery to lure their brethren to eternal sleep and damnation."

Anya raised the sphere, holding it a little closer to Illyria. "Yeah, they're real sorry about that. The point is that you're awake now, but your metaphysical structure doesn't fit in the rules of this universe. You've already dealt with a power drain, so the PTB suggest an easier solution that can be applied as often as needed. I'm here to set up your treatments."

Illyria eyed Anya warily. "This world is…small…and inconsequential. I tire of the constraints placed upon me by this planet and its _laws_." She turned, placing her sword in the holder against the wall. "What of these…_treatments_?"

"We're gonna have sex."

Illyria tilted her head, puzzled.

"Yes, while some emissaries have the task of bringing light and hope and visions of the future, I get to bring orgasms." Anya sighed happily. "I just _love_ my job."

"Your pitiful excuse for pleasure holds no interest for me. True pleasure is found in conquest, in capturing one's enemies and smiting them, in watching your foes writhe between your fingertips. You…_humans_ know nothing of pleasure."

Anya's eyebrows climbed into her hairline. A little heavy on the sadism, perhaps. Still, she had a job to do.

"You're right. Your original form didn't feel pleasure the same way that humans do, but your host body _is_ human. Don't you have any of your host's memories of sexual pleasure?"

"Yes. The shell has memories of this pleasure…opening herself while the dark one placed his member inside her. She found it satisfactory."

"Wouldn't you like to experience that pleasure for yourself? If you don't enjoy it, you won't have to do it again…but you'll like it, I assure you."

Illyria stared into nothing for several minutes, seemingly lost in an internal debate.

"Besides, I'm not exactly _human_, you know. I was a vengeance demon for a thousand years and now I'm a supernatural being. I should get bonus points for being at least _part_ demon, don't you think?"

Illyria cocked her head, blue eyes boring into Anya as if examining her genetic makeup with the naked eye, before replying: "It has been decided. I will allow you to gratify me sexually." She paused, hard blue eyes raking over Anya's form, before continuing, "You do not have the necessary equipment. Shall I grow the required attachments myself?"

Anya shook her head. "Not necessary. As wonderful as the penis is—in all it's varying shapes and sizes—I have all the parts I need." She waggled her tongue.

"Yes. The shell was fond of this part as well. Very well," she answered, nodding, "you will pleasure me now."

Anya looked around. "Don't you have a bed?"

"I do not sleep," Illyria replied, looking affronted.

"Well, I _know_ Spike has a bed—probably a big one. We'll use that."

Without a word, Illyria turned and left the room.

Anya followed until they entered a huge bedroom. The four-poster bed was draped with billowing red curtains. "Nice to know some things never change."

"Do you wish me to recline?" Illyria asked, stroking the duvet.

"Works for me." Anya placed the Dagon sphere on the bedside table, then climbed onto the bed, situating herself between Illyria's legs. Frowning, she traced the lines of Illyria's suit—it seemed seamless. "Hey, does this thing have a zipper?"

Illyria frowned.

Anya pouted, tugging on the rubbery material. "How does this damn thing come off?" In a blink, the suit melted away, leaving an expanse of pale, pale skin. "Well, that's handy." She bent to the apex of Illyria's thighs, where a healthy crop of brown and blue hair lay. She glanced up at the reclining God-King. "Any chance we can do this without the hair?"

Illyria propped herself up on one elbow, head tilted as the looked down at Anya. "You wish for bare skin?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, no one ever died from ingesting pubic hair—well, there was that one time, about three hundred years ago, but that was under completely different circumstances, so it doesn't really apply—but I'll be more enthusiastic if I won't have to pick them out of my teeth afterwards."

The hair faded away, leaving bare blue-tinted skin. Darker dapples of color spotted the labia, fading into the milky flesh of Illyria's inner thighs. Anya glanced up just in time to see the hair on Illyria's head—eyebrows included—disappear as well. "Oh! No! Not _all_ your hair. Keep the hair on your head, I just meant the hair here." She ran a finger across the now smooth skin between Illyria's legs.

"As you wish."

Seeing the blue-brown hair return to Illyria's head, Anya lowered herself to the bed, sliding an arm under a pale thigh and resting it on Illyria's smooth stomach. She stroked the skin between navel and groin, while the other skimmed Illyria's inner thigh, connecting the blue dots with swirls and figure eights, drawn by her fingertips.

She felt the muscles of Illyria's abdomen clench as the God-King sat up.

"The shell required foreplay before mating, but I have no such limitation—cease your inconsequential fumbling and pleasure me at once." Illyria cocked her head, raising one eyebrow and staring into Anya's shocked face a moment before leaning back against the pillows again.

Anya blinked—she liked a girl that got straight to the point—before pressing her face into slick blue folds.

She supposed the blue should have been an indication, but she was surprised when her tongue encountered cool, almost chilly skin. Unlike vampires, whose skin was room temperature, Illyria was almost icy inside.

It was a very strange sensation.

Nevertheless, it was sex and she was good at sex and she was good at her job, so the continued as normal, tonguing and stroking and slurping into Illyria's pussy. The calves resting along her sides tensed and she glanced up; the Dagon sphere had levitated off the nightstand and was spinning slowly.

She smiled into Illyria's thigh, licking down the cool skin before resuming her task, the lightest flick of her tongue against the purplish clit causing Illyria to stiffen and bark, "Continue."

Anya pushed on Illyria's thighs, curling Illyria's hips up before placing a pillow underneath. Settling back into position, she slid two fingers inside, before nuzzling and licking a path down to the dark opening beneath; she pressed the flat of her tongue against the pucker, licking upwards.

Illyria sat straight up, one delicate pale foot planted firmly against Anya's chest.

"The shell has no memory of such intrusion. I will hear your explanation of such an invasive deed at once."

Anya rolled her eyes.

"It's called rimming. It's not surprising—but a little bit of a tragedy, really—that your host didn't have the pleasure. It's not exactly the most sanitary of the sexual acts. Of course, since I'm not technically alive, it's a non-issue for me—being dead has its perks." Anya grinned; she _really_ loved her job.

Illyria didn't respond, her brow furrowed as if she were puzzling through the secrets of the universe, which, considering who she was, wasn't unlikely.

Huffing, Anya said, "It felt good, right?"

Illyria paused, her body relaxing before she replied, "It was not abhorrent."

"Well, there you go. Now lie down and let me finish."

Illyria complied and Anya pressed her face against the cool flesh, licking and stroking and petting one opening and then the other, slurping and eating into Illyria's body while the God-King twitched and panted against Spike's blood-red sheets.

Pressing her lips against the puckered skin, Anya sucked, tongue flicking against the sensitive area.

A deep, guttural growl reverberated around the room and Anya's eyes flickered to the head of the bed where Illyria was clenching the headboard, ice-blue eyes wide and unfocused, lips pulled back into a snarl. The Dagon sphere, now spinning wildly and pulsing violently, threw eerie amber shadows against the wall, highlighting the God-King's features with a greenish glow.

It was…surprisingly hot, in a creepy sort of way. Her free hand worked its way into her top, fingertips squeezing and rolling her puckered nipple. She really, really _loved_ her job.

Her fingers still sliding between slippery lips, Anya flicked her tongue against Illyria's swollen clit, once…twice…before taking it between her lips and sucking.

Illyria shrieked, and the walls around Anya's fingers shuddered, and suddenly the chilly skin turned _warm_, pink and red and flushed with blood.

Glancing upwards, Anya met surprised brown eyes.

 

***

 

Fred shuddered before falling back against the bed.

Panting, she looked around the room. She didn't recognize—it was Spike's room.

She couldn't remember, and yet she could and for some reason she didn't know where she was or how she got there.

She hoped she could find Wesley; he would know where they were.

She was startled out of her confusion when she noticed the woman sitting between her legs. Her _naked_ legs, which went perfectly with her naked body. Yelping, she scrambled to press herself against the headboard, clutching the sheet against her chest.

"Hello." She might not have known who the woman was, but it never hurt to be friendly.

The woman smiled.

"Welcome back. I'm guessing you're Fred?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Good. I'm Anya. I'm here on behalf of the Powers." Anya grinned. "I'm an emissary. Great benefits, if you ever end up dead. Do you want my card?"

"Uhm…no." Fred blinked. The Powers were so weird. "You…wouldn't happen to know where we're at, would you?"

"Oh, we're at Spike's house. In Beverly Hills. Well, sort of. Do you remember L.A. being sucked into a hell dimension?"

"Hell…dimension?"

Anya sighed. "Do you remember Illyria?"

And suddenly Fred remembered.  


>   
>  _The sarcophagus…the frantic search for answers…_
> 
> Wesley's arms around her, his lips in her hair…
> 
> Cracking and breaking, as something dark and ancient and powerful filled her to bursting, feeling herself splinter apart, flying away from her body, then being sucked back, vacuumed up and pasted together…
> 
> The darkness, deafening in its silence, weighing down on her, suffocating her…

"I remember." She felt empty; strange for one who had both a person _and_ a God-King beneath their skin. So she was at Spike's house, where she'd been for months, but that didn't explain…

"Uhm. Do you happen to know why I'm naked? For a hell dimension, it's actually pretty chilly."

"I just gave you oral sex." Anya beamed. "I'm _very_ good. It's too bad you don't remember."

"Oh. Uh…thank you?" Fred blinked. She'd never…never even thought—ok, well there was that _one_ time—and what if Anya wanted her to repay the favor? She had only a basic idea of what to do, but she'd been taught to always repay kindness with kindness.

"Do you…uh...I mean…do I…need to…?" She gestured towards Anya, gaze darting between Anya's legs for a moment before returning to her face.

"Oh, no. No reciprocation is needed. I'll exact payment from Spike—he is the one who asked for help."

"Oh. Ok, then."

Anya stood from her perch on the bed, smoothing her skirt while explaining, "Your transformation isn't permanent, but the power surges in this dimension are loosening Illyria's hold on your body. With regular treatments, you might achieve some stability."

"Treatments?"

"Sex, or more specifically, orgasms. It's one of the few bodily functions that bind the physical with the metaphysical. Illyria's metaphysical structure isn't equipped to handle sexual pleasure, but yours is. The more often you orgasm, the stronger your possession of your body, and Illyria will surface less frequently. The only thing that would work better would be to have a baby." Anya paused, thoughtfully. "It's too bad Spike can't help you out with _that_."

"Spike?" Fred's eyes widened; surely Anya didn't mean…

"Oh, didn't I mention he'll be taking charge of your treatments after I leave?"

"Spike!?"

"Oh, don't worry, he's _very_ good—actually, I wonder if he would like a job. I could use a male counterpart—wow, I think I'm even hornier, now. I'll just let you get dressed while I go collect my payment from Spike."

Anya walked to the nightstand and picked up a small brown…well, it looked kinda like a prune, to be honest, before turning and walking out of the room.

Fred glanced around a moment before calling, "Do you know what happened to my clothes?"

 

***

 

"So…?" Spike met Anya at the door.

"Well, it's done."

"She's…?"

"Fred."

"Fred?" Spike's eyes widened, and he glanced into the bedroom, where Fred was muttering while wrapping a sheet around her bare body. He turned his eyes to Anya, who was smiling brightly. "How?"

"Satisfaction guaranteed, remember? It won't necessarily be permanent. It'll be up to you to continue treatments."

"Me?"

"Orgasms. Multiple, preferably."

"Now you're having me on, Luv."

"Nope."

"You mean you…and she…and you didn't _invite_ me to observe? What if I needed a refresher?"

Anya arched a brow. "You?"

Spike shrugged. "Alright, guess not. Was worth a try, though, yeah?"

"I'd have been disappointed if you didn't. I am serious, though. Fred will need regular orgasms, preferably each day, to keep her from shifting…and even then nothing's a certainty."

She handed him the withered Dagon sphere.

"This should help. Illyria's power surge at orgasm kinda zapped it, so it's a bit of a dud now, but hopefully by the time Illyria resurfaces it'll be recharged." Placing a hand on his shoulder, she leaned closer. "Illyria will more than likely not remember my visit, but if she does, she'll be pissed—as in apocalyptically pissed."

"And then…?"

"Take cover and send another message."

"Great." Sighing, Spike directed her to the front door. "Well, glad you could make it, let's not do this again, sometime, right?"

"Hey now, don't get snippy with the messenger. I didn't cause this problem, and I've done a lot to fix it. Besides," she glanced up at him through her lashes, biting her lip and sliding her palm over his bicep, "we're not done here."

"No?" He grinned, leaning into the caress. "'M all ears, Pet."

"Well, I _do_ need to make sure you have the necessary skills to continue treatment, for the record, of course. And then, there's the matter of payment…"

 

***

 

While digging around in Spike's closet for something to wear, Fred's stomach began to rumble. Did Illyria even eat?

Clad in an oversized black t-shirt and a faded pair of jeans that she'd belted into place, Fred wandered the halls until she found the kitchen.

There was blood in the 'fridge, and something that looked like dried grass and smelled like cigarettes in the cabinet.

She sighed, slumping against the bare cupboard.

Her stomach rumbled again and she glanced around for a phone.

 

Did they have take-out in hell?

 

 

_FIN_. [](http://www.statcounter.com/)

 

Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.livejournal.com/175054.html).


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